


The Farther Shore

by Jougetsu



Series: Venture Brothers Soulmate Marking AU [3]
Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-23 01:53:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13179894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jougetsu/pseuds/Jougetsu
Summary: Brock Samson tries to put things to right when he learns he unknowingly abandoned his soulmate. It's not exactly smooth sailing.





	The Farther Shore

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 is set after S5E07 Bot Seeks Bot, but before the events of All This and Gargantua-2.

Brock realized he left his soul mate without due cause and wants to make things right. Only Hallmark didn't make 'Sorry I Didn't Realize I Was Your Soulmate & Left During My Midlife Crisis' cards though they really should. It has to have happened to more people than just him and Doc.

Best case scenario they reconcile and consummate. Worst case scenario the whole thing explodes into a festering pile of anger and blame and they never speak again. So you know, no pressure. 

Either way he'd rather the boys weren't there. They didn't need the stress of seeing their parents fight and frankly Brock had no idea how they'd take the whole situation. Hell he had no idea how Doc was gonna take his confession. In fact the only reaction he was certain of was Hatred's and that's only because he had a sneak preview the night he came back to the compound. Whether Hatred despised him more for leaving his assignment or leaving his soulmate and family Brock couldn't say. 

The one upside of having lived at the compound for most of his adult life was that he knew it inside out. Even if he didn't have spare keys and the alarm codes he could use about a dozen other ways in without ever triggering the security system or even waking Hatred. Hunter didn't exactly approve of all the times he went back to the compound, but he was never explicitly forbidden. 

Every time he thought about coming clean to Doc he talked himself out of it. Until the night at Don Hell's Club. Seeing Doc up on the Wheel of Torture was a waking nightmare. Shore Leave and Hunter had the gall to tell him it didn't concern him. Shore Leave he could forgive for not understanding. But Hunter? Hunter knew the name that was branded on his soul and still ordered him to stand down. It was possible Hunter was testing him, but he neither knew nor cared what the correct answer to that test might have been. 

He waited for a lull in active assignments and one night the boys were out with only Hatred at the compound doing laundry that he dropped in on Doc. 

Somewhat tipsy from one of his godawful cocktails Doc was playing some records and laughing as he told Hatred some of his past adventures. A flash of regret hit Brock hard at the scene. That used to be him ironing shirts and shaking his head at Doc's off-key warbling. 

He let himself in like he never left and it didn't escape his notice that Hatred tensed ready to grab the piece from his shoulder holster. 

“Mind if I join you boys?” Even if Brock's voice wasn't as steady as he wished Doc wouldn't notice in the state he was in. 

“Brock!” Rusty exclaimed flushing a pink that might have been from the alcohol but just as easily could've been pleasure. “Grab a seat and pour yourself a drink! I was just telling ol' Hatred here about Brisby and his panda.” 

“That crazy fossil had a fully functioning cult inside a theme park,” Brock let himself laugh at the memory. “He would've made a better Guild member than half the chuckleheads they have the roster these days.” 

“Right? He had henchmen, an animal sidekick, and a headquarters people paid admission to get into!” 

Brock joined his soulmate on the couch and downed a shot of vodka, then a second. “We had a lot of good times together.” 

Hatred's eyes narrowed, “Hey Doc, looks like you're low on the chocolate syrup. Why don't you grab more from the kitchen? Can't make those Moco Coolers without it.” 

Rusty giggled like a schoolgirl and climbed over Brock since Hatred and the ironing board boxed in the other side of the couch. “Anything I can get you, Samson?” Doc purred in what Brock could only pray was mock seduction. 

“I'm good with the vodka, thanks Doc.” Brock thanked every deity he didn't believe in that neither Rusty nor Hatred were blessed with super senses because otherwise they would've heard his heart going like a locomotive and his pheromones spiking every time he and Doc touched. 

The instant Rusty was out of sight Hatred tensed like he was about to pounce and rip Brock's throat out. “You better not be here for the reason I think you're here, Samson.” 

Brock had spent so long dealing with goofy ineffective Hatred that he had actually forgotten how dangerous the other man was. Not as dangerous as himself, after all Hatred relied too much on guns and machinery to be a real threat, but dangerous enough to be a hassle. 

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Brock lied as his heartbeat stuttered. 

“OSI told me what I needed to know about my charges,” Hatred hissed. “I know whose name is on Doc. And I don't give a hoot if you've got one to match because you left Samson. You don't come back from what you did.” 

“This doesn't concern you, Courtney.” 

“The hell it doesn't when me and the boys are the ones picking up the pieces,” Hatred brandished the hot iron only a few inches from Brock's face. “You're going to drink and listen to Doc's stories and laugh and then you're going to leave. Because if you're not planning on staying, you don't get to confess or beg forgiveness or whatever moronic thing you were going to do to break his heart a second time.” 

Three more shots of vodka in quick succession and Brock managed to stay quiet and not admit that he probably broke Rusty's heart starting the day they met and he didn't acknowledge their connection. Not that he knew then, but that hardly made it less painful on Doc's side. 

“Brock you animal, you're hogging all the vodka,” Rusty laughed when he returned with the chocolate syrup, half a bottle of Kahlua, and for some reason hot sauce. “They keeping you sober at the OSI?” 

Brock told himself he sparks didn't run up his spine when Rusty straddled his lap in an attempt to get back to his place on the couch. Doc was bony, all elbows and knees, and always had been, but damn if the brief contact didn't tingle and get Brock's motor running. 

It had to be the alcohol and nerves because there was no way there was any truth to the old wives' tale that sex with your soulmate was the best you'd ever have in your life. 

“Hunter runs a tight ship, but it's not a convent or anything,” Brock replied as he tried to wrangle Rusty off of him.

“You should stop by more often if you're not on missions,” said Doc. “Hatred doesn't drink so these devilish little cocktails are going to waste. And the boys would be happy to see you.” 

If Hatred wasn't there Brock would've asked 'Just the boys?' and pushed Rusty to admit he missed him and segue into soulmark stuff. But Hatred was there, a sentinel with spray starch and three packed holsters ready to fight off any wayward soulmates that came calling. 

So he lamely answers with a vague, “I'll see what I can do,” and polishes off the vodka. 

When Brock ends up back at headquarters it wasn't Hunter that waited up for him, much to his surprise. 

“You miss your old sugar daddy that much?” Shore Leave drawled. “Thought he drove you crazy.” 

“It's complicated.” Brock wasn't nearly drunk enough to spill the whole sorry tale to Shore Leave. 

“I'll bet,” said Shore Leave. “I'll bet.” Which wasn't a great sign because to Brock's ears that sounded a little too much like gears grinding into place for the other man. “Lemme know next time you want to swing by the compound and we'll carpool. Hunter's been on our asses about personal expenses and gas is pricey.” 

Right and have Shore Leave assessing him like a mission target? Thanks, but no thanks. A non-committal grunt from Brock ended the conversation. 

Today's primary objective hadn't been achieved, but Brock was a soldier. He'd power through this or die trying.

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank you to everyone who's left comments and kudos on the earlier fics in the series! Without your support I wouldn't have been able to write the follow-up story!


End file.
